End of the line
A few days later, as we drove to hospital to get the results, The Boy asked me, "What's your idea of a worst-case scenario?"
"One month," I said.
So we met with my NP, who told us pretty much what we'd expected: the Lump had metastasized and was now also taking up residence in my liver. There was an oral chemo we could try, without which I could assume my timeline to be about
I realize I forgot to ask what the best-case scenario might be. I've always been more pessimist than not.
So. Here we are.
I guess I should be running around fulfilling my bucket list (you know, like in that movie, Basket Case), but the weather has hardly been inviting. And between the totally tubular feeding and ongoing pain issues, I haven't had much energy for hang gliding or scuba diving (wait - those things were never on my list ...).
So part of me feels as though Aagh! The clock is ticking! And I'm sitting on the couch watching X-Files on Netflix!
And part of me thinks, what the heck does it matter, really? Do I need to cram a bunch of experiences into a couple of weeks to prove a point? Oo, it's the one with Peter Boyle.
Because anyway, who cares what I haven't done? That list would be a mile long for anyone.
Here are some things I have done:
Canoodled with wolves;
Eaten a ten-course lunch in Madrid;
Patted the tongue of a friendly Beluga;
Spoken to 2,000 people from the stage at the Wang Theater;
Seen the Grand Canyon;
Helped train harbor seals;
Fed handmade raw-chicken treats to lions and tigers at Big Cat Rescue;
Seen Paris from the Eiffel Tower;
Seen Conan O'Brien from a short, awkward distance;
Eaten at Momofuku, Chez Panisse, Le Bernadin, Au Pied de Cochon;
Fired an AK-47 and visited the Liberace Museum on the same day;
Lounged on a nude beach;
Made vermouth from scratch;
Grown and eaten my own tomatoes, warm and sweet, straight from the vine;
Made people laugh;
Baked my own bread;
Known real love.